


Stage Names and Stiletto Heels

by armouredescort



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Burlesque, Burlesque Dancer!Lance, Dancing, F/M, Fashion Model!Keith, M/M, Modeling, everyone is over 18, klance, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armouredescort/pseuds/armouredescort
Summary: Lance is a burlesque performer. Keith is a fashion model. They hit it off at a photoshoot together and Keith goes to watch Lance perform at the Voltron Academy's fifth birthday show. Mesmerised by the subculture, Keith signs up for a beginner's class and so starts his descent into the rhinestone, feather, and glitter whirlwind.





	

As far as things went, meeting a burlesque performer didn’t even rank in the top ten of unusual experiences Keith had been contracted into on set. As a model, he’d been asked to do a lot of weird stuff over the five years he’d been in the industry. Picked up at sixteen off the street by a talent scout, Keith had been thrust into the fashion world hard and fast, and had dug out a niche for himself.

The excitable, fast-talking Cuban model was all legs and warm sepia skin, the set lights reflecting the copper in his dark brown hair. He’d enthusiastically introduced himself as Lance McClain, then been hastily guided to hair and make-up by a harried looking assistant.

“You’re my rival now,” said Lance, over his shoulder. “You’re so pretty.”

He winked. Keith didn’t know what to say. Compliments were usually free-flowing on photoshoots, but there was a charisma about Lance that had struck Keith into silence. There was also the hesitation as to whether Lance was being serious or not.

Keith was never quite sure in these situations.

Then he was grabbed by a stylist and dragged off to a glitter booth. The shoot itself was to be on a shiny red and white hoverbike, clearly a custom job, one which Keith was personally dying to look at closer. Dee Dee, the photographer, mentioned that it had been pieced together by an adventurous local mechanic, and promised to give him the mechanic’s number after the shoot.

Silver glitter was carefully sprayed onto Keith’s skin, a new formula that wouldn’t disrupt sea life once it was washed off. The tiny particles had a seaweed base and would break down easily once it was in the sewage system.

“You can talk if you like. It’s not toxic,” said the stylist.

The glitter spray washed over him in even sweeps. Keith kept his mouth shut, not wanting to eat it anyway. No doubt he’d be finding it in his food for weeks to come. Plenty of time to eat it then.

“Thank you,” he said, once they were done.

He was always polite to the staff. Keith may be quiet, but he wasn’t unfriendly. Making sure he thanked everyone involved and helped to clean-up after had made him a favourite with his agency, as he was always complimented on his tidiness.

Besides, it was rare for him to butt heads with anyone on set. Stinging comments were best reserved for scammers trying to book him for free work.

Lance had been doused in a body-covering layer of shimmery gold, except for his face, which was being worked on by a make-up artist as another stylist fitted shoes while Lance was still. He was joking with the make-up artist, pausing only when they needed to do his eyes or lips.

Bright teal lipstick adorned Lance’s face. The shape of the wings coming off Lance’s eyes were geometric, almost like someone had peeled the decorations off an Art Deco statue. These were done in vibrant red and yellow, with a little flash of teal to emphasise the lines. His cheekbones had been crisply highlighted with more gold glitter.   
Keith would have snuck more looks, except that Lance hopped out of his seat and headed for wardrobe.

“Oh yeah, I love make-up,” Keith overheard Lance saying to the stylist dressing him. “I teach and perform burlesque.”

Keith hadn’t heard of many male burlesque performers before. Yet if anyone was going to be a burlesque performer, then it was Lance. From the moment Lance had walked in, he had held himself with the grace and fluidity of a dancer. Confidence radiated from Lance, and Keith had to admit it was pretty attractive.   
“That’s why I picked you, honey. You’re not afraid of going a bit risqué,” said Dee Dee.  
She was fiddling with the lights and taking test shots.

“I want you resting on the back of the bike, and Keith on the seat.”

Wet make-up was painted onto Keith’s face, and he wondered what he’d look like once they were done. His lips were in orange, he knew that much, and they’d picked a more subdued red for his eyeshadow, but then threw in lime green and more orange. No doubt dramatic.

“You look like an alien,” said the make-up artist.

“Is that good?” asked Keith.

“It’s what the company wants. I rarely get to be so theatrical, it’s fun when I get jobs like this,” they replied. “You look hot.”

Then Keith was being squeezed into a gold jumpsuit that was more skin than elaborate brocade. It seemed like an odd choice for riding a bike, but Keith didn’t comment on it.

The lights were flashing. Lance, in a matching jumpsuit in silver, had already clambered onto the bike for lighting tests. He wasn’t even posing properly yet, and Lance still looked fantastic. Laughing again, Lance was doing leg extensions, arching his back, and figuring out what positions he could hold.

"Legs out,” said Keith, as he settled onto the bike.

It was supposed to be a compliment.

Fortunately, Lance took it the right way, winking at Keith and pulling one leg straight up to his chest.

“Now you’re showing off,” Keith said.

“Always,” said Lance.

Keith marvelled at Lance’s balance. The bike’s rear was steep, and one slip would mean toppling to the ground. No doubt with serious injuries. Yet Lance was up there like he always rode bikes like this.

"We'll get the full body shots first to make the fashion director happy, then we'll come in closer for some portraiture to really show off that make-up," said the photographer.

Keith nodded and then they were away. The lights flashed and the camera whined in the background as he slipped into the calm and serene mood he needed while modelling. He was someone's living mannequin, and he had to make sure that he fulfilled their desires. He'd done this plenty of times but no two shoots were exactly the same. Every job had to be worked better than the last one, regardless of the budget behind it.

While Lance had barely paused chatting away during set up, he'd now fallen quiet, asking a question to clarify instructions every now and then.

Sometimes, Keith would glance back and see Lance looking at him. The angle Keith had meant that it was hard for him to judge Lance's expression.

"Swap places," said Dee Dee.

Several assistants swarmed the bike to polish it after Keith swapped with Lance. They scrubbed away as much of the iridescent glitter as they could but it had already become part of the bike.

Keith made sure not to smudge the polish as he laid along the back of the bike. He didn't find it horribly difficult to balance, but finding poses that Lance hadn't already utilised perfectly was proving to be a challenge.

At least he could see Lance from here. Just as he did with the back of the bike, Lance was all over the driver's seat.

"That's enough full body for now," said Dee Dee. "You can go get some water while we reset the lights for portraiture."

Keith gratefully slipped off the bike, being careful not to flop onto Lance. They headed to the refreshment table, where they were given water with straws.

"Having fun?" asked Lance.

His lips fixed around the straw and Keith found himself thrown for a loop. It was fun in the sense that it was work and work was rewarding. It was also fun because Lance was good and there hadn't been any crappy staff.

"Yeah," said Keith. "You're very good."

Keith sipped at his own water.

"I've had a lot of practice," said Lance.

"Burlesque, yeah?" Keith confirmed, cautiously in case he hadn't heard correctly earlier.

"Yup! You should come to a show. We have one in a couple of weeks," said Lance.

He put his water down and bounced over to his backpack, pulling out a flyer. On it was a black woman with a mass of white hair, elf ears, and a dress made of pearl strands. She had two giant feather fans in one hand, with a pretty gradient of pastel blue to pink in the feathers. 

The fans were flared behind her head to mimic a headdress, while her free hand rested on her hip. Her hair was adorned with jewels and the whole thing was topped off by prosthetic elf ears and pink and teal contact lenses.

"Voltron Academy presents their 5th Birthday Spectacular!" declared the header in a bright yellow and pink cursive. A list of sultry names poured out from under the header, finally ending in details about the show.

"That's the Altean Princess, she's one of the heads of the school," said Lance. "Will you come?"

He thrust the flyer into Keith's hands. 

The whole thing seemed exciting and colourful, and it wasn't like Keith had much on the night of the show. He could block it out with his agency to avoid any last minute jobs.

Before Keith had a chance to reply, they were called back on set. Keith shoved the pamphlet into his bag.

All thoughts of the show were pushed away as Keith found himself in the driver's seat of the bike with Lance sitting right up behind him. Long arms draped over Keith's shoulders, Lance nuzzling in so the shots were tight on both of their faces. Dee Dee loved it, the two men falling closer and closer together as the shoot went on.

In fact, Keith was so busy trying to focus on the shoot and not Lance's warmth and open flirtations that he completely forgot the pamphlet until he got home later that day. Taking out the folded sheet, he wondered which name belonged to Lance. Maybe it was the Platinum Champion, but that didn't quite fit.

Keith wondered what kind of person used a show name like Emerald Envy, and decided to find out, texting his agency to keep that particular night free.

***

The subdued, beige community hall had a line of people coming out of it that went halfway around the building. Looking at the line, Keith was dazzled by the amount of sequins, feathers, and rhinestones on display. He joined the end of the line, ticket tucked safely into his pocket, and was immediately pounced upon by a person with gold cat ears and wild hair, clutching a clipboard and raffle tickets.

"You're new. Want to join the newsletter?" they asked.

"Uh–" started Keith.

"You go in the draw to win a prize if you do, and it's free. Otherwise we have raffle tickets that are two dollars each, or three tickets for five bucks, and you're probably going to win some champagne, chocolates, and a class voucher," they continued, unfazed by Keith's uncertainty.

"Probably win?" asked Keith.

They shrugged. As Keith looked them over, he realised they were dressed in a dark green butler's uniform.

"I mean, I don't know what's exactly in the prize baskets because the Altean Princess is still putting them together in the green room. We had homemade peanut butter cookies, a bottle of wine, and some vouchers, but since this is the Big Number Five Birthday, she's going to go all out," they said. "I've gotta get at least ten people on the newsletter list or the Princess will be sad."

They held up the clipboard pleadingly.

"I'll sign up to the newsletter," said Keith.

At least he'd know when the next show was. He could always block the address later if it proved to be too spammy.

"I don't have any coins for the raffle, sorry," he added.

The green butler nodded, thanked him, and moved onto the people that had arrived in the meantime.

The line moved quickly, Keith handing over his ticket and driver's license, and getting a mouse stamped onto his wrist by another person wearing cat ears.

"Why the cat ears?" Keith said.

"To differentiate the staff from the audience," said the woman stamping him. "You don't wear the ears unless you're helping the stage manager. Have a fun night."

Following the rest of the queue through the plastic strips separating the ticket desk from the main hall, the music and chatter surrounded Keith quickly. It wasn't unbearable, a good an atmosphere as a crowd waiting for a music gig to start, but Keith still headed for the walls to separate himself. The amount of people already there was more than he'd seen for any regular talent show.

Scoping out a place was much more fun anyway.

Large swathes of golden fabric had been pinned to hang like bunting along the outer walls. The fabric disguised the ugly brick of the community hall, also covering the windows from cheeky peepers. Electric candles had been set underneath the windows, curving around to block off a few metres of space in front of the raised stage.

This was all well out of the way fans, which were lazily turning to keep the room from turning stuffy. Keith shucked his jacket, already feeling the warmth of so many people in the space.

There were two bays of chairs, easily seating two hundred people, with an aisle down the centre that lead to the stage. It felt like there was more than two hundred people in the room, and even though Keith was off to the side, the crowd seemed to push up against him.

He swallowed, trying to make himself as small as possible as a flock of women passed with perfect victory rolls and 1950s styled clothing. Maybe if he took a seat it wouldn't be so much of a crush. It would be okay. He could leave if it got too much, even though he'd paid for his ticket already.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd left a place because he'd been overwhelmed.

Keith looked for empty spaces, and noticed that the side of the stage was relatively clear, aside from a man in yellow wedged into a tiny space behind a tech desk. He was chatting to a man with a shock of orange hair, and the most immaculately groomed moustache Keith had ever seen. They also had cat ears on.

Then the man with the moustache darted into the wings of the stage. As the wings swung back into position, Keith thought he saw Lance peering out to search the crowd. 

The tech man reached over to a switch and flipped it twice. All of the lights, bar the ones at his desk and in the serving and ticket areas, flickered in synchronisation. Even the electric candles dimmed momentarily.

Keith couldn't see any visible leads or receivers on the candles. He let out a low whistle of appreciation, and looked away when a lady in canary yellow overheard him, pretending to be interested in a drapery instead.

"The show will be starting in ten minutes, folks. Please grab a refreshing cocktail, wine, beer, vodka, or for the designated driver, the mocktail, from the bar and take a seat. Remember to keep the space in front of the stage clear, and make sure those stage kittens can do their jobs by not blocking the aisles," said the man.

His voice was so cheerful and light. It matched the colour of his shirt. Keith liked him immediately, especially since he'd rigged the candles to be under his control.

It was still too early for Keith to have a drink, so he took one of the empty seats near the tech guy, getting in early as people headed for the bar to stock up.

Feeling bold, Keith leaned over and said, "Nice job on the lights."

The man in yellow jumped. The handsome smile was soon back.

"Cheers," he said. "I'm Hunk. Tech guy."

"You mean Mister Engineer," hollered a familiar voice.

Lance came out of nowhere, latching onto Hunk and hugging him tightly.

"You have to perform one day," said Lance.

"Mister Engineer isn't exactly a sexy stage name, Lance," said Hunk, stressing the 'isn't'.

Then Lance turned around and practically screamed in delight. "You came!"

"Oh, so this is your rival," said Hunk. Then to Keith, "Lance hasn't shut up about the shoot since he came home the other night. He's just posturing because he likes you."

Lance elbowed Hunk, and declared, "I do not. He's my rival."

Keith was baffled. He wasn't sure what to make of the easygoing teasing Hunk and Lance were giving one another.

"Yeah, the rival you specifically invited here tonight because you want to lure him into performing. That absolutely shouts 'I hate this guy and his hair and his pretty almost-violet eyes'," said Hunk dryly.

Hunk chuckled as Lance huffed and folded his arms.

"Anyway," said Lance. "I have to go backstage now and make sure my classes aren't panicking. I have the beginners and they're always a bundle of nerves before they go on."

He loped off with easy steps and it was at that point that Keith noticed Lance was wearing a pair of strappy, sparking black stiletto heels. Christ. That man could balance.

Hunk flipped the lights again, and gave people their one minute warning to be seated. Although Keith was off to the side, he still had a number of people squeezing past him rather than use the main aisle. Then the moustachioed man from earlier reappeared at the tech desk, a trail of cat-eared assistants following him.

The lights went down, the stage illuminated in a bright spotlight. Everyone went quiet, waiting, and the room seemed to be under a spell, transported away from a dingy community hall to a liminal space between worlds.

Before, the electric candles had seemed a little obvious, and the fabric had been covering the flaws in the building, but in the low light it came to life as an otherworldly space. Glow in the dark stars and fairy lights sparkled above them, turning the ceiling into a night sky.

Suddenly, the curtains parted, and the Altean Princess stepped out of the shadows, her full-length gown sweeping the floor. From his seat, Keith could see her false nails were encrusted in iridescent jewels, clutching a white microphone, which she flicked on and raised.

"Good evening everyone! Welcome to our fifth birthday performance, and I hope you're all settled in for a night of glamour, glitz, and finding confetti in your handbag in three weeks time," she said.

The audience chuckled, still warming up to the space, and the Altean Princess continued, "I know I still have Pidge's feathers stuck in a wig from our last show. For those who don't know me, I am the Altean Princess, but you can just call me Princess. I am the headmistress of the Voltron Academy, and alongside my partner, the Platinum Champion, I look after the school."

She spun once, her gown flaring out to lift off the floor. Someone shouted enthusiastically, and it sounded odd in the restrained atmosphere. Princess took it in stride, and continued, asking, "Now where is that darling partner of mine? Can anyone see him?"

A hushed mumbling ran through the audience. Some of them looked around. It felt subdued, as if they were uncertain of the protocols that came with a burlesque show.

Then the green butler ran down the centre of the aisle, carrying a silver dish high, bounded up the stairs at the side of the stage, and bowed to present the dish to the Princess. The theatrical nature started to ease the stillness in the room, a few more people cheering on the butler.

"A letter from your Platinum Champion, Princess," said the butler.

The Princess plucked a letter from the dish and the butler slipped away through the curtains.

"He says his arm has run off somewhere and he can't find it," said the Princess.

Behind her, a black and white arm started to crawl out from the stage wings. It was slow at first, then the joints lifted so it looked like a phantom was doing a handstand with one arm visible. It was a robot.

The offbeat weirdness of it all was enough to make the crowd start to treat the performance like a B grade horror film. The people in the front were hooting the loudest, clearly regular patrons that had caught onto what was happening.

Was the arm a regular thing? The man next to him was clapping in delight, but Keith couldn't hear much noise coming from behind him.

Someone shouted for the Princess to look to her left, but the arm jumped away, hiding in the wings. Allura walked over to where the arm had been, making a show of inspecting the area.

A rustling noise, like an animal stuck in the attic, played over the speakers and then the arm reappeared on the other side of the stage.

"There's nothing here," said the Princess, straightening up.

The arm jerked forward, fingers tapping on the wooden floor. Princess whipped around at the noise and mock screamed. 

In an impressive manoeuvre the arm leapt through the air. Keith peered upwards to see if there were any wires lifting the robot arm, but he couldn't see any. The Princess caught it, fought it as it grabbed wildly for her face, and then she pressed a button to power it down. It whirred, going limp in her hands.

"Honestly, prosthetics are getting so advanced these days. Let me go give this back to the Platinum Champion while Pidge informs you of tonight's rules," she said.

The curtains parted and the butler re-emerged, taking the microphone as the Princess retreated. There were a few whoops of encouragement.

"I can tell you're a relatively green crowd," said Pidge. They gestured to their outfit. "Not as green as me, though, unless you're Emerald Envy, who I can testify is slathering herself in green body paint as I speak. Good thing she isn't catching public transport home, although I'm sure the drivers have seen weirder things."

They pulled a notecard from their pocket and held it up.

"These are the rules! They're important rules, and anyone found breaking them will be escorted from the premises. Firstly, you're all eighteen, yeah? I know we asked for IDs at the door but if you've smuggled someone in then I'm afraid they have to go. If you're drinking tonight, you have to be twenty-one, and yes, we are checking."

Pidge squinted at the card again and muttered a curse.

"The Altean Princess has such ridiculously swirly handwriting. It's nearly impossible to read. Anyway, next rule is that the green room is for performers only. The toilets are at the back of the hall, so don't try the whole 'I got lost looking for the toilets' trick. We also like to encourage our performers. In other words: if you don't cheer, you don't get to see the goods," said Pidge. "Speaking of the goods, the only pictures you should be taking are those in your memories. We have a mobile blocker and we will use it if we suspect people are taking photos. Down the front here is Galaxy Photography, our official photographer and you can see their snaps on their Facebook in a few days time."

There was a slump in the audience. Keith saw the sense in no phone photography. One badly composed shot or slip up of someone could ruin a career. He'd seen models get blacklisted for posting screengrabs of photoshoots still in the magazine submission phase, thus invalidating the entry and getting it tossed before it could be printed.

"Also if we have a pastie pop and the police ask? That shit's illegal under our license and we definitely did not see uncensored titties. No illegal tits here, no siree."

Tossing the card off the stage, Pidge smiled. It wasn't a cutesy smile, or an elegant, diplomatic one like the Altean Princess had, but something that suggested that Pidge was up to mischief.

"Now are you ready?" she asked.

The audience, still hesitant up the back, cheered. It could have been louder.

"If that's all you got, we're not even getting the dressing gowns off," said Pidge sternly. "Now are you ready?"

"Yeah," the audience chorused.

Pidge grabbed their pants and tore them off, the rest of the suit coming with it. It wasn't technically a two piece suit, Keith noticed, but a jumpsuit made to look like a regular suit. Underneath, Pidge was wearing a white flapper's dress.

This time the hall erupted. Keith clapped.

"Nothing like a good tearaway outfit to get the night started!" said Pidge. "Now for our first act, our very own headmistress, the Altean Princess!"

The hall got louder, and Keith had to put his hands over his ears. It was clear that the back rows had finally joined in.

Then the show started and Keith was lost in the performances.

One after the other, deep and meaningful, lighthearted and funny, professionals and newbies, they all went past in a blitz of flying clothes and interesting music. The woman sitting beside Keith informed him that it was appropriate to meow at the assistants cleaning up after a performer had walked off.

"Stage kitties," she said. "That's what they're called."

Keith meowed after that. Laughed at all the right moments. Stayed somber when a performance tackled heavier themes. There weren't many sad performances, since it was a birthday show.

There were a few standouts: the Altean Princess and her feather fans; the Platinum Champion's electronica routines with, as Keith was surprised to find out, an actual prosthetic right arm; and Pidge's tapping routine that started slowly and sped up until they were a furious rattle of tap shoes on stage. Keith also liked the performer dressed up as Optimus Prime made from cardboard boxes, purposely making it shitty to wobble with every move, and then letting it "fall apart" until Optimus shuffled offstage in false embarrassment, covering their breasts and crotch.

However when Lance took to the stage, Keith didn't know how to react. Pidge introduced Lance as "The Tailor" and Keith had two theories for the name. One, Lance could sew. Two, Lance could thread his body around anything and anyone.

Lance was good. Really good. He knew how to put his legs to work and did two solo routines. One of them involved a chair, and Keith found himself to be a smidge envious of the IKEA chair as Lance thrust, shimmied, and ground on it, teasing his way out of a blue sequin jacket and black leather pants. When it finished, Lance was covered in a light sheen of exertion, a brilliant flush to his cheeks, and eyes so bright and wildly alive.

The audience loved it. Loved Lance. And Lance loved the crowd.

The second performance, Lance put his efforts onto floor work. He arched and pointed his toes and flipped and rolled like a snake. He was dressed like one, too, in black faux snakeskin with opalescent undertones. The clothing came off, and unlike the other day Keith could stare without feeling guilty. It wasn't as if Lance was even pointed in Keith's direction, and anytime he was it wasn't for long. Besides, he was wearing these outfits, doing these routines _to be seen_.

It was magical.

And Keith wanted in. So when he woke up the next morning with an email about the upcoming term of classes, Keith clicked on it and enrolled himself into beginner burlesque.

It would help his balance. And his posture. Plus Lance was there and Keith wanted to know more about him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to start another AU, but this one wouldn't let me go. All of the characters are legally able to perform, I've aged them up.
> 
> As for knowing anything about burlesque, I've been doing it for two and a half years now.


End file.
